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Since all of his ‘Command Crew’ had left on missions, Brad was alone. He wondered if someone was supposed to stay on the Bridge at all times. He looked out the front viewing windows at the clear day and the calm ocean and figured that the ship wasn’t doing anything except floating idly in the sea. Then he remembered that the ship was fueled by poetry, and figured that he’d better go and find the person in charge of the engine room. There was a high chance that they didn’t speak English, but someone had to tell them that the ship didn’t run by conventional methods. Brad figured that he could somehow pantomime the basics, and maybe do a demonstration also. He debated a few moments, then figured that the ship wasn’t in any danger, so he might as well go out and meet the engineering crew.

He answered questions and settled disputes all along his trip to the bottom center of the ship in the main engine room. He finally arrived to find everything in a busy, but functional order. It didn’t take him long to find the reason. A tall man in a broad-brimmed hat wearing what looked like long loose-fitting shorts was giving orders and directing affairs. Brad caught his attention and was introduced.

The man put forth his hand, “Captain, I’m Montgomery Bentham, I believe I’m your Engineer, at least that’s what Hubert there said it’s called.” He pointed down a corridor to indicate a boy wearing dark rough clothing and a wool cap.” The boy gave a furtive look, then disappeared into the distance.”

“Sounds good to me.” Brad smiled and shook the hand. Inwardly Brad was also smiling because he had found a native English speaker. Not only that, but this Montgomery carried himself like an English gentleman.

In fact, if Brad had his memories, he’d assess that Montgomery looked very similar to the way Sherlock Holmes was depicted in many movies, albeit with a totally different style of dress from the detective stories.

Montgomery had a narrow face with piercing eyes. His chin was rounded, but his look was very ‘chisled’ and direct. Other than being tall and thin, Brad couldn’t tell much about Montgomery’s build because of the clothes he was wearing. The clothing was geared toward sailing in the 1500’s. He wore pants that were so baggy that they looked like a dress. His shoes were black, pointed, and had gold buckles. A brown, long-sleeve shirt that was button down covered his torso and was tight to his body.

Monty took off his broad-brimmed leather hat and smoothed down his brown wavy hair. “Captain, there is a fire in that large furnace, but it appears that there is no fuel. It looks like it’s dying down, so I sent out some boys to gather spare wood and all the coal they could find.”

Brad was glad that he arrived when he did. He wasn’t sure what would happen if you tried to burn traditional fuel in a magic boiler system.

Brad walked over to the nearest furnace. There was a flame, but it was faint; just power enough to keep essential systems running. The launch and rise from the Dark Bubble had used up all of the mystical power created in the depths. He put his hand near the thick metal plating to feel the warmth and turned to his Chief Engineer.

“The ship runs on poetry.” He said it plainly and watched Montgomery’s face as he took in the information.

Montgomery’s face didn’t register surprise or alarm. “Captain, I have sailed with all manner of ruffians, soldiers . . . and also my fair share of jokesters.”

“No,” Brad stopped him and smiled, “I do like jokes, but this is a humorous truth for the whole ship. It actually runs on poetry.”

He continued to watch the intense face as Montgomery continued to process the information. The intense eyes shifted from looking at Brad, to looking past him to view hatch of the boiler.

A moment passed. Then another longer moment passed.

All at once, his mind was made up, and Montgomery took a stride to stand before the fuel loading door to the furnace. His tall frame bent down and the waist and he spoke in a clear voice.

Disturb us, Lord, to dare more boldly,
To venture on wider seas
Where storms will show your mastery;
Where losing sight of land,
We shall find the stars.

The ship responded with a roar of flame, like someone had dumped gasoline onto a smoldering fire. It continued into a steady blaze in the boiler.

Montgomery smiled, gave the boiler an affirming pat and seemed pleased with himself and the furnace function. Otherwise, he acted as if a magical boiler was commonplace. Brad loved the unflappable demeanor of the British.

“That is a verse that my first Captain, Sir Frances Drake, penned while we sailed along the Portuguese coast.” Montgomery informed. He emphasized the word ‘first’ to show deference to Brad that he was speaking with his current commander.

They chatted for a moment. In his previous life, Montgomery was a Lieutenant for the Royal British Navy, stationed undercover aboard the Marigold, one of Sir Frances Drake’s privateer ships back in the ‘golden age of piracy.’

Montgomery then excused himself to send the message to his engineer crew to stop ransacking the ship for loose wood and coal, and instead search for poetry books. Brad made a mental decision to ask more about Montgomery’s past. It sounded like he was some sort of spy.